I miss my friends.
The move to San Francisco was initially exhilerating, exciting to a tee. The parties! The fun! The hunky 23-year olds that I could spot from across the bar, exuding youthful virility (sigh…) Yes, this city had it all, and how lucky I was to be here.
Then came reality.
The crazy landlord. The difficulty in finding an apartment. The sideswiping of the car, the parking tickets, the cost of boarding my dog as my work travel continued to increase. Hemmhoraging money became the norm, and if I were in a British novel, I’d be complaining about my pathetic relationship with my Bank Manager. (Instead, I don’t have one, and my account continues to go down and to the right. Lovely.)
In the depths of despair (or even at the immediate throes of lonliness) it’s only natural to remember the good times, the times that have passed, which for me, without a doubt, was in college.
I taught them the "ordering from the J.Crew catalog" trick and they primped me with makeup, perfume and the like when a boy would come over to study. I’d chastise their predilection for blue eye liner and they’d again remind me that no, I didn’t wear a men’s size XL in my sweaters.
Then we grew up (or at least some of us did…I’m holding firmly to my ‘you are as young – and single – as you want to be’ mantra.) We (and I use that term loosely!) got married.
And so, as I find myself missing the days where things were just immediately easier, where our big choices were between Coors Light and Natty Light (Silver Bullet, baby!) and where there was always a shoulder (at least 12 of them, usually) to cry on, I think back not just to college, but to my girls that made my college experience what it was …poor outfit choices notwithstanding.
Girls, I love ya, come visit soon.